Oh really, did I want to see vulvae and willies after sampling chilli jam and stinky cheese at St Peter’s/ de Beauvoir’s Christmas Craft Fair? Let’s face it, I was lost on some lost streets off the Hoxton main road. I saw only dinginess and grey pavements and felt the biting chill through my mack. I’d spent all my odd change in the fair and at the Women’s Institute stalls and was full on samples of this and that in St Peter’s crypt. I stood at a road junction and espied the old Hackney Archives building. Maybe I’d see Stephen or Pauline in a carpeted room doing computers. Couldn’t have been more shocked really. I followed some lesbians into the dismal building that is Open School East. I saw some snacks on a table through the smudged glass door but turned on my heel to disappear downstairs without making eye contact with the reception staff or the coiffured men around me to the basement and studio. I did not want to be community engaged or otherwise.
The gallery was like any old warehouse set-up but the sections here were separated by voile curtains.
Oh my word. Art deserves better.
I tried to look at the porno photos as to me they were. You know. women licking something whilst naked must be some kind of rudeness or nature. If the montage had been up on a pristine wall I could call it art, captured moments, through a looking glass and more. There was an unknown going on in my mind triggered by the fact that I was underground and had no idea how many rooms of willies there were. Well there were walls of willies and a couple of vaginas all painted with urgency and sometimes by numbers or at least by colouring in.
Some works are thrusting with potential
Why were the queers here always painted as nudes?
I returned to the queue at reception to redeem my tickets for the 10 minute shorts aka short films all about boys loving elephants and whatever else on show. I could not pretend to myself that here was an enjoyable cultural experience.
Someone else’s party.